Lily's List
by fssquiggles
Summary: Everyday, Lily Evans added one more happy thought to her list. Until war hit her like a brick wall and she'd stare at her journal for hours upon hours and nothing would come to mind. This is a place for those thoughts you'll always want to remember, her gran had said, but sometimes she didn't want to remember anything at all.


**Title:** Lily's List  
**Author:** fssquiggles  
**Disclaimer:** I am not J.K. Rowling because if I were I'd be rich and would probably actually write a story about the marauders tbh  
**Notes:** um just jily feels and i listened to "Holding on to You" by Twenty One Pilots literally the ENTIRE. TIME. while writing this so welp

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Everyday, Lily Evans added one more happy thought to her list.

It's become a sort of habit she developed since she was a young child, with knobby knees and a big sister who didn't let her fight her own fights.

Her grandmum had handed her the sparkliest notebook she had ever seen and pinched her cheeks until they hurt while Petunia snickered. Lily, her gran had said, this is a place for those thoughts you'll always want to remember.

She only ever wrote down her happy thoughts because why would she want to remember anything else? And, as young as she was, she certainly didn't run out of things to be happy about.

_Me and Tuney made the yummiest cocoa._

_Daddy got me a puppy._

_Tuney punched Williams for making fun of my hair._

_I met a boy named Severus and he's just like me._

_Sev says I'm made of magic._

_Hogwarts._

As she grew older, and her world grew bigger, Lily found more things to be happy about (and more things to be sad about) (but she pushes those things away from her, to the deepest recesses of her mind).

_I'm first in my class._

_Snogging in broom closets can be quite fun._

_Gryffindor won the House Cup._

_I've finally perfected that curse I've been having trouble with. Potter's going to be limping for weeks._

_I'm a prefect._

_Sev promised he'd stop mixing with the Dark Arts._

War hit her like a brick wall. She knew it was coming but she didn't let herself think about it until it was too late, until almost everyone she knew could see the creatures pulling their carriages at the start of term. She still, stubbornly, tried to keep it away from her mind, until she convinced herself that it worked.

_I'm Head Girl._

_Mary is finally able to sleep again._

_I hexed Mulciber today._

_I kissed Pott—James. I don't know why._

_The Daily Prophet wants me to write for them._

_Mum sent me chocolates for my birthday and an invitation to Petunia's wedding._

After graduation, the entries became harder and harder to write. Sometimes, she'd stare at the journal for hours upon hours and nothing would come to mind. Her friends were dying and she felt like _she _was dying, falling apart piece by piece, and it kind of _hurt_. Yet she thought and thought until she stubbornly wrote,

_I'm still alive._

And she would sit there, surrounded by hell, and sometimes (sometimes) she'd find something else to add.

_The Order is actually working._

_Alice and Frank are getting married._

_I kissed him today, properly kissed him, and I think I finally know why I did it the first time._

_We evaded Voldemort again._

_I laughed until I cried today._

But one entry, amongst entries filled with jokes, late night conversations, and teasing, stays with her to this day. It was written almost hesitantly, as if even she couldn't believe it.

_I love him._

Slowly her entries picked up from there, filled with happiness she thought she would never see again. Sometimes, she felt guilty of all her happiness, until something horrible happened, something that twisted her gut and made her feel like the little girl she had been so long ago (the little girl who needed her big sister, _other people_, to fight her fights.) Then, she just felt grateful. She smiled at the wrinkled pages before scrawling out her favorite entry to date.

_The twat finally proposed._

She stopped writing after that, forgetting her sparkly, pink notebook somewhere beneath her other books and records she didn't have time for.

_I'm pregnant._

She wrote her latest entry in tiny, tiny letters, half hoping it wasn't true, although she knew it was. The war had gotten worse. They didn't mean for this to happen, but they were okay. They were going to be okay. She recites this to herself daily.

_His name is not Elvendork. It's Harry. Harry James Potter._

For a moment, she forgot that she was to only write happy things.

_Voldemort is coming, but Dumbledore says we'll be safe. Godric's Hollow will be safe._

But, only for a moment.

_Harry absolutely adores his toy broomstick._

_We spent hours decorating Harry's nursery._

_James made us tea, and held me until I fell asleep._

Those were the joys that Lily held on to that fateful night, when _he_ had found them, and the protection spells meant to keep him out had essentially trapped them in. Three times they had defied him, and, like Alice and Frank, they would not make it through the fourth. She stilled hoped, however.

But when James smiled at her, knowing and pleading and a little bit teasing, her hope (her _heart_) faltered (no, it didn't just falter, it _broke_.) She shook her head furiously and reached out to him, her fingers brushing his cheek, caressing the hint of stubble she had known so well. For a second he gave into her touch. He always did.

"I'll hold him off."

And everything shattered, including her. She just nodded and turned away, running to her son. She wanted to cry and scream and break everything, but she couldn't. She had to save her (_their_) son. She knew he was gone, dead and gone and cold, his laughter and teasing smirks lost forever. She could hear the stairs creak and groan and shivered at the chill running down her spine. She held her son as tightly as she could, trying to steady her breathing and her fluttering heart.

But something in her clicks and she realizes that she has to die. So, with a heavy heart, she gathers all the strength she has left, all the love and happiness, and welcomes death.

She fades.

Her son lives.

Her journal burns to ash, beneath mountains of rubble.

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**a/n: con crit and reviews and all that jazz are greatly appreciated**

**like seriously**

**reviews are pretty boyband members feeding you cake mmm**


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